Fragile Facade (Blind Barriers Trilogy Book 1)

by Sophie Davis

  My friends all laughed.

  “Same difference,” Taylor said. “He was hot.” She held up her wine to toast my accomplishment. I touched my cup to hers before taking another sip, and thought about what a difference a year makes. This time last year, I’d had one of the most wanton nights of my life; we’d actually been making out behind a cluster of trees strung with lights, for like an hour. Then, I’d thought it was pretty romantic. Now, I was counting the seconds until I could sneak off to meet Blake.

  “Anyone good coming tonight?” Cam asked. Annie’s mother was in charge of the Invitation Committee, and she always snuck a peek at the guest list.

  Annie shrugged. “Same people as always,” she said, sounding as bored as I felt. “Politicians, cardiac surgeons, bank presidents, the Diamond King and Queen of the World.” She smiled and gave me a small nudge at the reference to my parents, before continuing. “A few Hollywood A-listers, a Victoria’s Secret model or two, a couple pro hockey and soccer players…you know, the usual. Oh, and some kid from that show on the BBC that everyone is obsessed with.” Annie cocked her head to the side and wrinkled her nose as if the name was eluding her, but, if she concentrated hard enough, she might be able to sniff it out. After a moment she shook her head, obviously giving up. “Whatever. I can’t remember his name, but he is going to be my boyfriend for the night,” she professed with a grin.

  “Does he know this?” I teased. “After ‘Black Tie Required,’ did his invitation say, ‘Date Will be Provided’?”

  “No way. It said, ‘Sex will be Provided’,” Taylor cut in.

  “Oh, ha ha,” Annie said, pretending to be offended. “You’re both comedians now, is that it? Well, keep on joking. Because while Mr. I’m-Not-A-Royal-But-I’ve-Played-One-On-TV is talking all British to me, you’ll be dodging Alfonso What’s-His-Name and his attempts to play grab-ass.”

  Cam, Taylor, and I all shuddered in unison. Alfonso Curro was a foreign diplomat who, somehow, always scored an invite to the big social functions. He also never failed to inappropriately touch every female he came near. No one seemed to like him, though many seemed more than a little afraid of him.

  “I’ve got something in the works,” Taylor said, all mysterious.

  My cell buzzed in my lap. I looked down.

  Afternoon, Gorgeous. Leaving home now. Meet you at our spot in an hour?

  I couldn’t hide the silly grin.

  “Looks like you’re not the only one, Tay. Who ‘ya talkin’ to, Lark?” Cam sing-songed.

  I looked up into my friend’s shining eyes and lied smoothly. “Jeanine.”

  “Your housekeeper?” Cam asked skeptically.

  “Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Mom sent her to the Bronx to this weird new age store that specializes in cleanses. Apparently, mommy dearest is feeling a little fat and needs to lose five pounds, pronto. Jeanine wants to know if I need anything for tonight while she’s out.”

  I’ll start making my goodbyes, I typed back to Blake as I lied to my friends.

  I don’t know exactly when I started keeping so many secrets from them, but it was long before Blake Greyfield came along. Hiding such a large part of my life from my best friends felt wrong, yet it also felt kind of right. In the beginning, I’d been worried they wouldn’t accept him. Now I didn’t really care if they did. But I still kept the truth of our relationship to myself. I loved having something that was mine and mine alone. Our time, mine and Blake’s, was so much more special because it was stolen from our ordinary days. It was rare, and all the more beautiful for it.

  Can’t wait, was Blake’s reply.

  Me neither.

  Hiding the smile that just the thought of him always brought to my face, I tuned back in to what the girls were saying. Apparently, my totally fabricated story about my mother needing to do an impromptu cleanse had apparently reminded Annie of a real story she was regaled the others with. At school on Friday, evidently Lydia Gromsley had told anyone who would listen that she’d been dieting all week to fit into her custom Roberto Cavalli gown. Since Lydia consumes roughly four hundred calories a day, I could only imagine what she considered a diet. Seriously, was she leaving the mustard off of her lettuce?

  Cam and Taylor were laughing so hard they were crying as Annie imitated the irritating baby voice that Lydia was known for using. Especially around Ilan. She seemed to think that talking like a four-year old was a turn-on. I caught Annie’s gaze and smiled gratefully. While Annie liked to gossip just as much as the next girl, going this far wasn’t her usual M.O.; she wasn’t making fun of Lydia for sport. Annie was more perceptive than my other friends, and had guessed that most of my excuses for ducking out early or blowing off engagements altogether were utter bullshit. But, like any real best friend, she kept her suspicions to herself and even covered for me.

  “Hate to break up this party,” I said, after Cam finished trashing the girl Ilan was bringing as his date tonight. Apparently, Lydia wasn’t the only one with her eye on that particular prize. I’d have to keep an eye on that. “But I should get going.”

  “Seriously?” Taylor asked. She glanced at her watch. “The mice are still sewing your dress, Cinderella. Relax. How much longer are we going to be able to sit around and gossip while others do the work?”

  “Um, forever,” Cam answered before I had a chance. “That’s the beauty of being us.”

  I laughed along with my friends; the joke wasn’t actually funny, but it was true.

  Thirty minutes later, the bell above the doors to the Downs jingled as I hurried inside. Blake was already there, tucked back in the corner in a cozy armchair big enough for two, his forearm on the wide velvet armrest. Leaning back, one ankle rested on the opposite knee, he look all for the world as relaxed and happy as I knew him to be. Blake was absorbed in a book propped on his leg, giving it his full attention, just as he did with everything of interest to him. From where I stood, enjoying the sight of him, all I could see was his profile. A lock of dark hair fell forward, curling around his temple. I took a moment to watch him and marvel at just how good-looking he truly was.

  He must have felt the weight of my gaze. Blake’s head popped up and his green eyes found my blue ones immediately. I grinned, showing so much tooth that my mother would have been appalled. Blake started to rise, like he was going to come meet me at the door. I quickly waved him back down, but he ignored me. The next thing I knew, we were embracing. His arms were around my waist and mine were around his neck, our lips meeting in the middle.

  The public display of affection was reckless and stupid and left me breathless. I was taking too many chances these days, and one of them was going to backfire. If someone saw us openly making out, word could get back to my mother. But it certainly felt worth the risk.

  “Sorry,” Blake whispered, his lips brushing my cheek as he spoke in my ear. “I couldn’t help myself. You look too good. It would be a shame not to touch you.”

  “Blake Greyfield,” I pretended to chastise him, “At least say it like you mean it. I don’t think you’re sorry at all.”

  Blake ran his palms down my arms, sending a shiver of pleasure up my spine, and then grasped my hands in his. He stepped back to look me. Straight-faced, he said, “That’s because I’m not sorry.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I giggled and gave an exaggerated eye roll. I quickly sobered, thinking of everything else happening in my life, but managed a real smile when I looked up at him again.

  “What’s wrong?” Blake asked.

  I’d spent all day with three girls who were supposed to be my closest friends, yet not one of them had even suspected that there was something amiss in my allegedly fabulous life. I’d told myself that I was just that good of an actress, and my friends were more interested in gossiping about classmates than discussing our own problems. But that was a lie. One look at me and Blake knew I was not okay.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. “I’m just nervous about giving you the present I had mad
e. Promise you’ll love it?”

  Blake brought our joined hands to his heart and made an awkward X. “Cross my heart.” He nodded towards the chair he’d been sitting in when I arrived. “Want to sit?”

  As it turned out, the oversized armchair would’ve been big enough for three people; Blake and I fit comfortably with room to spare. Shirley appeared with a hot chocolate and two giant cookies just as were getting settled.

  “First batch of the fall,” she announced, setting the steaming mug and plate of cookies on the end table next to the table. “They’re pumpkin. Enjoy.”

  “Thanks, Shirley,” I called after my favorite waitress as she departed.

  The pumpkin cookie was soft, almost gooey in the center, and sprinkled with large sugar granules, just the way I preferred it. But I couldn’t muster the appropriate enthusiasm for the treat. My stomach was in knots over giving Blake his present.

  I reached into the interior pocket of my floral Fendi bag. My fingers closed around the velvet pouch. He loves you. I let my smiling mask fall back into place and shifted in the chair so I could look at Blake without craning my neck.

  “I know it’s silly,” I prefaced, “but I really wanted to give you something special.” The pouch was cupped between my palms and I held it out to Blake. “Seriously, though. Please be honest. If you hate it you can tell me. I’ll happily go shopping for something else.” Please don’t hate it. Please don’t hate it.

  Blake feigned shyness as he slid the velvet from my fingers. He kept glancing between the pouch and my face, drawing out the moment so long I finally exclaimed, “Open it already!”

  He laughed and leaned forward to brush a kiss across my lips. “Your impatience is adorable.”

  “And your pokiness is maddening,” I teased.

  Blake kissed me again before finally untying the drawstrings and flipping the contents of the pouch into his open palm. An old-fashioned key, approximately an inch long with two gold teeth on one end and a gold latticework hoop on the other, fell out. It was attached to a wound rope made of soft black leather – very masculine – so he could wear the key around his neck, if he wanted.

  At first, he didn’t say anything and I felt an uncharacteristic need to fill the silence. “It’s so cheesy, right? I’m sorry, I–”

  “I love it, Lark,” Blake cut me off. “Sometimes cheesy is good.” He looped the leather over his head, and then pulled me in for a long kiss. For the first time ever, Blake’s lips didn’t empty my head of all thought. His touch didn’t make my problems completely disappear.

  What did you do, Lark?

  “So what exactly did I do to deserve the key to your heart?” Blake asked when we broke apart. “I’d like to know so I can do it again. Who knows what I’ll get next time?”

  It was a joke. So I laughed. He was trying to cheer me up because he knew something was still bothering me.

  The key was dangling in the space between our chests. I gently tucked it inside Blake’s collar, making sure that the gold charm fell over his heart. Then, I leaned so close that my lips brushed his when I spoke. “I love you so much. I can never say that enough.”

  Saturday night: party night, for all of the bright young things in D.C. Not me, though. I chose to stay in and watch comic book movies. One of the cable channels was playing an Iron Man marathon. Except, I wasn’t fully immersed in the exploits of Tony Stark. It was playing in the background while I sat, cross-legged, on the floor with all Lark’s clues spread out before me. Asher was out with a couple of his law school friends. Before leaving, he’d extended what I assumed was a pity invite. Not being of legal drinking age and living on limited funds, I’d declined. Besides, I felt like I owed it to Lark to spend every spare moment figuring out what happened to her. If she was still alive, by some miracle, I wanted to find her that way. Drinking and socializing would be an option for years to come; they could wait until after I’d solved the mystery of her disappearance.

  Unfortunately, the clues weren’t speaking to me. I’d been so proud of myself for deciphering the crossword clues, but now I just felt lost. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the answer. The prevailing theory was still that “whistleblower” was a password for something. An email account? Online access to her bank account? I didn’t know.

  The second journal entry about Blake was still nagging at me. I’d given a lot of thought to Asher’s question about which, if either, of the entries was the real account of Lark and Blake’s first meeting. At brunch, I’d been certain that the lovebirds had met at the Met Ball. It was just a feeling, but a definitive one. I was still pretty sure that was true, but I was starting to have my doubts. Truthfully, I was starting to have my doubts about all of this. Maybe Asher had been right when he’d said this was a case better investigated by the authorities. Who was I to figure out this decade’s Lindbergh baby? I was just some random girl who’d happened to stumble across Lark’s journal.

  I gave up sleuthing for the night in favor of vegging out on the couch. Clearing my mind would only help me in the long run, I decided. I had a nutritious dinner of cheddar cheese, Ritz crackers, and turkey pepperoni, all purchased at the corner store, while I watched Stark save the world, again and again and again. As hard as I tried to ignore everything else and let Robert Downey, Jr. consume my every thought, the movie barely held my attention. My mind was preoccupied with contemplating Lark, Blake, and secrets serious enough to send the Manhattan socialite into hiding. Or worse, get her killed. Apparently, my brain didn’t want to be cleared.

  The same damned pounding in my temples that always accompanied a long day of deep thought started around midnight. I traded the television for Lark’s iPod, which I was ashamed to have borrowed from her apartment. Despite my love of music, I’d never had one of my own. There was a playlist of soft ballads simply called Chill. Pressing play, they slowly helped me to relax. Soon, my eyelids grew heavy. I knew that I should get up from the couch and go to my bedroom, but I couldn’t muster the strength. One night on the sofa won’t kill me, I thought, as sleep overtook me.

  Dreams are strange. While in one, you never realize how bizarre they are. The cat that talks to you, the fact that your mother looks like Carole Brady, and your romance with the prince of a country that doesn’t exist all seem normal until you wake up. This dream was no different.

  I was jogging on the National Mall just before sunrise. The sky was bubble-gum pink, with the remnants of a pale gold moon just barely visible. There were no other early morning runners around, so the crunch of dirt and pebbles beneath my feet and my labored breathing were the only sounds. My breath was coming out in small white puffs of air, and I suddenly felt overwhelmingly cold. I glanced down and was startled to realize why. Instead of workout clothes, I was wearing a floor-length black gown that I’d never seen, and gray and purple Nikes. At last memory, these shoes were in the closet at my parents’ house.

  The cherry blossoms were in bloom, and the area by the Jefferson Memorial was overflowing with the flowering trees. Ahead of me, low-hanging branches extended like bony fingers into my path. On my left, fog rolled over the muddy water of the Potomac. The ground sloped slightly downward, and I skidded several inches before regaining my footing.

  I slowed my pace, but felt my pulse quicken. I was excited, breathless not from the run, but from anticipation. I smoothed my hands over the skirt of the gown and then ran trembling fingers through my tangled hair. The shoulder-length locks weren’t pulled back into a short ponytail like they normally were when I exercised, but were loose instead. My hair was also longer than in real life, swishing back and forth between my bare shoulder blades.

  He materialized like an apparition ten feet in front of me. Early morning fog misted around his tall form, parting like a curtain as he strode forward to greet me. In my mind, I recognized his features as they’d been described. In my heart, I knew him. After waking, I would later recall the guy as a cross between Chase Crawford and the actor who played Captain America. In my dre
am, he was undeniably Blake Greyfield.

  “Hey there, beautiful,” he called. The three words were soft, heavy with love and longing. Yet, had this been high noon in Central Park I’d have never heard him, he spoke so quietly.

  “Hi, handsome,” I heard myself calling back.

  The silly grin on his face was mirrored on my own. He exuded a cool confidence that excited and scared me, the latter reaction if only because no one had ever looked at me with so much want and need.

  Before I had time to truly appreciate just how amazingly the tuxedo he wore fit him – the clean, tailored lines juxtaposed perfectly with his slightly askew bowtie – Blake’s arms were around me. We were two halves of a whole, fitting together like a best friend charm. I felt whole in his arms, complete. The feeling was exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once. It was as though some part of me had been missing until that moment, and I hadn’t even realized it.

  His lips were soft on my forehead, gliding gently across my skin as he murmured, “I’ve missed you so much.”

  I rested my head against his chest, absurdly wondering whether my makeup was going to mess up his crisp white dress shirt. He stroked my hair. His voice sounded distinctly like Asher’s when he said, “I’m so glad you were able to get away.”

  “Me too,” I agreed.

  Blake gently pulled away. Running his warm hands, slightly calloused from lifting weights, down my bare arms, he threaded his fingers through mine.

  “Want to walk?” he asked.

  I nodded and we began moving forward. I looked down and noticed the pebbles beneath my sneakers had become smaller, finer. Sand. We were still in downtown D.C., except there was a beach, not a rocky path, beside the water. The wind picked up just enough to ruffle my hair, causing brown strands to blow across my face. I pushed them out of my eyes. Several locks seemed to snag on something around my neck.

  “Here, let me,” Blake said.

  I hadn’t realized I stopped walking until Blake was standing in front me, carefully untangling my hair. Tentatively, I touched my neck. When my fingers felt the smooth, round surface of the pearls, I choked on my next inhalation of air. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. The necklace seemed to be growing tighter by the second. Pearls dug into my skin, and a heavy weight pressed down on the hollow of my throat.